The End
by Ri2
Summary: Everything must come to an end sometime. No matter how much we wish that weren't the case. In honor of Sir Terry Pratchett. RIP, Pterry.


Some years ago, a good friend of mine gave me The Hogfather, Going Postal, and…I _think_ it was Guards! Guards!, though I might be mistaken-as a birthday present. Naturally, I fell in love with them, and over the years since have done my best to collect and read all the books in the main series and as many of the others as I could, something I'm sure most of you can sympathize with.

When I heard Sir Terry Pratchett had Alzheimer's and was dying, I was naturally upset, as I can imagine all of you were. When he died yesterday…well…I knew it was coming, but even so, I was shocked. I guess I'd always figured he'd have more time. Another year or two. Another book or two. And now…

Lots of people are writing stories or making pictures to commemorate the passing of this man, one of the greatest authors and geniuses of our age, to whom my own creativity is but a pale shade. After seeing some of those, I felt compelled to offer my own tribute, albeit a simple, paltry one. Hopefully it will suffice.

Thank you for everything, Sir Terry. The world is a lesser place without you.

…

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that doesn't belong to me.

…

Sir Terry Pratchett was wide awake, and his mind was clearer than it had been in quite some time.

This did not surprise him.

He was also upright, transparent, and standing over his own corpse, which almost looked as if it were sleeping, save for its lack of breath, motion, or any of the other things you would usually associate with someone who was asleep, or at the very least, alive. There was a cat sleeping on top of him—which most certainly _was_ breathing and moving, and was not dead but just looked like it was sleeping—and his bed was surrounded by his family, including his wife Lyn and daughter Rhianna, none of whom could see him in his current state.

This did not surprise him.

There was a tall figure beside him, a towering skinny thing wrapped in a cloak darker than the infinite blackness of space, clutching a scythe in its bony hands so sharp light seemed to splinter off its blade, a pair of blue lights shining from the even deeper darkness within its hood.

This did not surprise him.

He was wearing his customary all-black suit and wide-brimmed hat, with his meteorite-forged sword—which he'd made himself-slung over his back.

This surprised him.

"Why am I wearing these clothes?" Terry asked, somewhat perplexed. "I'm fairly certain it's not what I went to bed in. In fact, I _know _it's not what I went to bed in. I can see myself wearing something different."

**YOU'RE SEEN WEARING THEM OFTEN ENOUGH THAT IT'S WHAT EVERYONE—EVEN YOURSELF—THINKS OF WHEN YOUR NAME COMES UP,** the tall dark figure said.

"Ah. Right. Morphic resonance and all that," Terry said, understanding at once. As well he should, he was fairly certain he'd come up with the idea, or something like it.

**ESSENTIALLY.**

"Why the sword, though?" Terry asked.

**YOU'RE GOING A LONG WAY. YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU MIGHT RUN INTO ALONG THE WAY.**

"Fair enough," Terry agreed. He wasn't a dwarf, who believed that it was important to be buried with ceremonial weapons in case you ran into something nasty on the way to the afterlife—again, something he was well acquainted with, having come up with it himself—but as he'd written on more than one occasion, just because you didn't believe in something didn't mean it didn't believe in _you_. It always paid to be prepared. And he could certainly think of a few people who wouldn't exactly be pleased to see him on the way to wherever he was going who it might be nice to have a sword on hand to deal with if he ran into them.

He nodded. "All right then. Should be we be off?"

**JUST LIKE THAT?** The figure asked in surprise. **NO QUESTIONS OR DENIALS? NO PLEAS? NO LAST WORDS FOR YOUR LOVED ONES?**

Terry shrugged. "I've known this was coming for a while now and made peace with it. I always expected that you'd be the one who'd come for me when the time came—I was hoping it would be you, to be honest. I know well enough by now that there's no point in begging for more time or asking what comes next, since we both know you either can't—or won't—give me those. And to be honest, I'm kind of looking forward to finding out what's next for myself. And as for my loved ones…" He hesitated, staring at his family, then shook his head and turned away. "I've said everything that needed to be said already. They will endure, and everything's in Rhianna's hands now. I have every confidence she'll take care of everything I've left for." He smiled." I died well, which is more than most can say. What more can a man ask for?"

**ACTUALLY-**

"It was a rhetorical question," Terry clarified.

**AH. YES. ONE OF THOSE, **the figure said**. ARE YOU READY, THEN?**

"I am," Terry said.

The figure extended an arm. **THEN AT LAST SIR TERRY, WE MUST WALK TOGETHER.**

Terry took Death's arm and followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless night.

The End.


End file.
